


You came back...

by anotherdiana



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: M/M, mentions of erik/christine and raoul/christine, poor boys get terribly confused over their tattoos, soulmate tattoo au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:36:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherdiana/pseuds/anotherdiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm jumping on the Soulmate Tattoo bandwagon!</p>
            </blockquote>





	You came back...

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea who came up with the Soulmate Tattoo AU idea, but they are a genius. Basically it works like this: your soulmate's first words to you are 'tattooed' somewhere on your body. Pretty simple. I'm working under the assumption that it's the first words they say DIRECTLY to you, not just the first words you hear them say.

He was fourteen, and he was feeling those first, giddy rushes of love at first sight. She’d thrown him several shy smiles, and looked almost about run over to him. He was more than tempted to go to her first. The blush on her cheeks was surely caused by something other than the wind. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And then the wind caught her scarf. She cried out, and made a grab for it, but the wind was strong and the scarf was light.

Raoul pelted after it, haring down the beach, and splashing into the ocean. The wind had carried it far, and he was almost at the other end of the beach when he caught it.

He dashed back with his prize, not caring that he was dripping wet, not caring that the wind bit at his skin, that he might even catch cold. The girl, that wonderful girl, would be so thrilled to have her scarf returned to her. He’d be her hero.

“Mademoiselle! I have your scarf!” He called.

She had been walking away, looking dejected. Obviously she had not thought he could catch her scarf, or would not bother to return it to her. At his call, she span to face him, delighted.

“You came back… You’re soaked to the skin!” She cried.

Raoul’s heart leapt with joy. _You came back_ … _you’re soaked to the skin._ Those words were printed across his left bicep. Those were his soulmate’s first words to him. Fourteen, and he’d found her. And she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

* * * * *

_Who are you?_

Such unhelpful words. _Who are you?_ A hundred people had asked Erik that question. So far they had been seventeen people’s first words to him. But when she spoke them, he knew that he had found the one.

Christine Daae, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. The voice he had searched for his entire life.

And then he came. The boy who could ruin everything.

* * * * *

Raoul was twenty when he met Christine again. She was even more beautiful now.

He almost sprinted to her dressing room, knocking on the door urgently. When she pulled the door open, it took every ounce of restraint he had not to sweep her into his arms and kiss her in the doorway.

“Raoul, so it _is_ you! I had hardly dared believe it!”

He was brimming with excitement - he had met his soulmate again, and they would be together at last. They would marry, have children. They would be happy.

She was smiling softly at him, and he struggled to find words. Any words at all.

“May I take you to dinner, Christine?”

Her face fell.

“Raoul, I cannot go out, my tutor is very strict!”

“I won’t keep you up late! I insist! Christine, you _must_ come to dinner with me, it’s been six years! Come, change into something suitable while I fetch my hat. I won’t be long.”

And he left, trying not to feel too disappointed. This was his soulmate, should she not be more happy to see him? But no matter, they were destined for each other, and soon they would be together forever.

When he returned to Christine’s dressing room, his heart plummeted. He could hear Christine’s voice, and the voice of a man, too! He pressed his ear to the door, feeling like a naughty child, but the voices stopped. He threw the door open, determined to confront this stranger.

The room was dark, and it was empty.

“Christine?” He whispered softly.

There was no answer.

“Christine, are you here?” The door swung shut silently, and the lock clicked into place with a soft _clunk_.

Raoul threw himself into motion, seizing the matches up from the dressing table, and fumbling to light one. He managed it just as a cloak brushed his side, the shadow of a man looming over him. The match dropped from his fingers, and he scrambled for another.

“Who are you?” he called into the darkness. The only reply was a gust of cold air, and Raoul remembered the horror stories he used to tell Christine about vengeful ghosts.

When he finally struck another match, and lit an oil lamp, the room was empty of any cloaked strangers.

“Show yourself!” He called into the empty room, his voice trembling.

He was greeted with silence.

* * * * *

Erik stalked through the cellars of the Opera Populaire, carrying an unconscious Christine with him. She had fainted as soon as he had opened the mirror, and he had pulled her through into the tunnels in order to avoid that idiot boy.

He had burst through the door moments after Erik had closed the entrance again, hat in hand, and as pretty as a girl, much to Erik’s annoyance.

It had been impossible to resist tormenting him a little. A locked door, a chill of cold air across his neck.

 _Show yourself_ , the boy had called, once he had a light in his hand.

As if he would dignify the impetuous youth with a response.

* * * * *

She was reaching out to him, the idiot boy’s engagement ring on her finger.

“Christine, come to your angel!”

She was almost his. Another step or two, and she would be in his arms again.

But of course, the boy would not allow that. He was running across the graveyard.

“Release her, Monsieur!” He shouted. An angry flush had spread across his delicate, feminine cheeks. “Free her from your spell!”

The boy’s chest was moving fast as he skidded to a halt, mere metres from Christine. His lips were parted as he gasped for breath, his eyes bright with exertion. Once again, Erik cursed the boy for being so beautiful. How could he hope to win Christine against such an angel?

But no, Christine was his _soulmate_. He would prevail.

He turned from the boy, ignoring his calls, and reached out to Christine. He was too late, she had once again been ensnared by the brat’s charms.

They left him in the darkness, and he didn’t spare a word for the boy, only cried Christine’s name into the night.

* * * * *

The rope was not overly tight around his neck, but it felt as though it was choking him all the same.

The Phantom was pacing the room, his twisted face uncovered, eyes wild, clothes in disarray. Christine was sobbing on the floor.

He called out again and again, imploring the man to release Christine, to let her go free, to show mercy, compassion.

His cries were not answered, perhaps they were not even heard.

When Christine kissed the Phantom, he finally let his own tears fall. Jealousy burned in his chest, and seared his soul from his body. He was choking on his despair, drowning in his sorrow. The sight of them together ripped him to pieces, a slow, never-ending torture that made his heart fracture. But he couldn’t look away.

It seemed an age before Christine pulled away. Her words to the Phantom echoed through his hollow chest.

“We’re not meant to be together. Killing Raoul will not change the fact that you are not my soulmate.”

He felt numb as Christine led him from the darkness.

He should have felt happy.

* * * * *

They sat up together late into the night, curled in front of the fire in the sitting room of his brother’s manor. There were more than enough guest rooms for Christine to choose from, and his own bed seemed to be calling to him. But Christine apparently had no desire to sleep, or to let him sleep, either. Every time he began to nod off, he was woken by her clutching hands or pitiful cries.

“Go to sleep, Christine.” Raoul muttered.

“I can’t sleep! I see him every time I close my eyes! He’s going to live and die alone, and it’s my fault!”

For some reason, the thought made Raoul’s stomach clench painfully.

“Christine, it wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could do. Don’t think about it. We’ll be married soon, and everything will be well again.”

Christine pulled away, and stared at him in astonishment.

“Surely you don’t still want to marry me?!” She exclaimed.

Raoul sighed, resigning himself to a night of no sleep, and taxing conversation.

“Of course I still want to marry you. Why on Earth would I not?”

“Well, what happens when one of us meets our soulmate?” Christine asked.

“What?” Raoul stared back bemusedly.

“You _do_ have a tattoo, don’t you?”

“Well, yes.”

“So, what happens when you hear those words?” Christine was talking slowly, as though she was explaining something to a child. “What happens when you meet your soulmate, and you’re already married to me? Or what if I meet mine first?”

Raoul said nothing, only stared in confusion.

Christine glanced around nervously, even though they were alone in the room, then pulled her skirts up slightly to show the tattoo on her left shin.

_Mademoiselle, I didn’t see you there, forgive me!_

“What happens when I meet my soulmate, and I am already married? Raoul, it cannot happen.”

Raoul put his hand to his arm, where his tattoo was hidden by his shirtsleeves.

Suddenly, everything fell into place.

* * * * *

Raoul stumbled into the Phantom’s home, dripping wet from the lake. Someone had released the boat from its moorings, and he’d had to swim across.

The Phantom stood as he entered.

“You came back…”

 

 


End file.
